BANCROFT  LIBRARY 

1941 


INTRODUCTORY 

Simplicity  is  the  evidence  of  great 
ness! 

People  who  are  really  educated  know 
what  to  do  next. 

Religion  is  the  inherent  longing  in  the 
human  soul  to  answer  harmoniously  the 
call  of  the  Great  Divine. 

A  person's  grade  of  intelligence  may 
be  rated  by  his  sense  of  humor. 

We  are  born  alone;  we  work  alone; 
we  succeed  alone;  we  fail  alone;  and, 
lastt  but  not  least,  we  die  alone. 

tl 


Copyright  1921 
By  N.  C.  Hanks,  Heber,  Utah 


HAMMOND     PRESS 

W.  B.    CONKEY  COMPAI 

CHICAGO 


UP  FROM 

THE  HILLS 

By  N.    C.   Hanks 

CHAPTER  I. 

CAME  up  from  the  hills.  Followed  that 
long,  crooked,  slippery  trail  that  winds 
between  the  crests  of  the  cliffs,  over  the 
rocks,  by  the  pine  trees,  and  through  the 
snow  drifts. 

My  boyhood  days  were  spent  there.  The 
meadows,  mountains,  valleys,  and  murmur 
ing  pines  were  all  my  playmates.  Many  mock  battles 
went  on;  even  the  Weaver  of  Dreams,  Zane  Gray's 
Buck  Dewaine  and  Riders  of  the  Purple  Sage  were 
very  insignificant  to  compare  with  some  of  the  char 
acters  of  my  boyish  dreams. 

After  I  was  graduated  from  the  swimming-pool, 
the  cow  herding,  and  the  dog  and  pony  days  I  was 
kicked  and  cuffed  through  seven  grades  of  a  very 
ordinary  country  school  in  Charleston,  Utah,  the  place 
where  I  discovered  America.  As  I  look  back  over 
those  methods  of  instruction,  I  wonder  which  end  of 


Up  From  the  Hills. 


my  body  they  were  trying  to  educate—  or  if  they  had 
misunderstood  the  location  of  my  brains.  The  won 
derful  age  of  sixteen  arrived  with  all  its  likes  and 
dislikes,  choices  and  choosings,  sweethearting,  and 
teasing.  The  trip  to  the  University  interrupted  my 
boyish  pranks.  I  worked  for  the  money.  It  seemed 
the  only  way  to  get  it.  And  when  I  broke  off  the 
family  tree,  Dad  cut  me  loose  to  pay  my  own  debts. 
So  through  the  coming  years  of  seventeen,  eighteen, 
nineteen,  and  twenty  I  worked  for  resources  and  went 
to  school  whenever  I  could.  My  record  at  the  Uni 
versity  was  not  a  brilliant  one,  as  the  pauses  to  get 
cash  were  frequent.  However,  I  finished  my  second 
year  in  the  commercial  college  and  acquired  an  appe 
tite  for  more  education,  but  the  money  had  to  come 
first  and  faster.  I  bade  adieu  to  the  old  farm  with  all 
its  happiness,  plenty  and  memories,  and  went  away 
to  the  mines  as  fast  as  I  could  go. 

CHAPTER  II. 

I  saw  the  carloads  of  ore  coming  out  of  the  moun 
tain  sides.  It  looked  good  to  me,  and  I  said  to  myself, 
"Here's  where  I  make  a  raise."  So  during  the  vaca 
tions  from  school  I  learned  to  be  a  miner.  It  is  a  haz 
ardous  game,  especially  for  those  who  lack  experience. 
Often  fortune's  rosy  lips  pose  with  what  seems  a  kiss, 
and  then  through  mismanagement,  or  just  plain  bad 
luck,  that  proffered  caress  turns  to  bitter  disappoint- 


Up    From    the    Hills.  Pa*e  seven. 

ment.  Misfortune  followed  me  in  my  mining  days.  A 
disaster  at  the  Daly  West  mine,  Park  City,  Utah,  in 
which  twenty-eight  men  lost  their  lives,  made  my  first 
job  possible.  After  I  had  worked  thirty  days,  a 
ladder  broke  on  which  I  was  descending,  and  I  fell 
twenty  feet  into  the  bottom  of  the  winze  (a  perpen 
dicular  passage  cut  through  the  stone  for  the  ladder 
and  ore  shoot).  Mishaps  like  these  were  very  com 
mon.  Two  nights  before  the  ladder  broke  with  me,  a 
man  was  crushed  to  death  in  the  cage  while  we  looked 
on,  helpless  and  horrified.  Later,  on  a  contract  job,  a 
premature  blast  tore  off  most  of  my  clothes,  and  left 
me  with  a  broken  finger  and  an  ugly  hole  in  my  back. 

There  is  a  fascination  in  mining  which  I  remem 
ber  yet.  How  we  dug  in  the  dark,  cold,  slimy  wet; 
we  saw  the  glittering  silver  sparkle  in  the  gleam  of 
the  candle's  dim  light.  It  looked  like  a  halo  of  fortune 
peering  at  us.  Oh  you  miners  all  know  what  a  charm 
there  is  in  hunting  for  gold!  It  has  worked  clear 
down  through  the  ages,  and  for  this  selfsame  lustre 
many  great  men  have  given  their  lives.  The  contract 
work  at  the  mines  went  on  with  a  jump.  The  goal 
was  reached  and  the  money  won  when  our  contract 
work  was  finished  at  American  Fork.  We  found  a 
splendid  mine  near  Nephi  on  Mount  Nebo  on  which 
we  took  a  lease. 

How  well  I  remember  that  rainy  October  noon 
when  we  loaded  the  burros  and  started  away,  the 


eight.  Up  From  the  Hills. 


old  gray  burro  leading  with  his  bell  and  his  pack. 
We  went  to  the  mountains  —  to  the  mountains,  never 
to  come  back;  Tis  strange  but  we  can  never  turn 
in  our  pathway  of  experience  —  we  must  go  on.  True, 
our  hearts  ache  for  things  that  are  gone.  But  onward 
and  forward  the  experience  must  come.  'Tis  a  won 
derful  school,  but  the  tuition  is  high.  The  lesson  it 
teaches  rings  strong  and  clear  through  those  gorgeous 
mountains,  that  great  line  of  snow-capped  peaks 
standing  like  monuments  to  the  glory  of  God.  They 
usually  bear  a  message  of  strength  and  peace  to  all 
who  live  in  their  shadows,  or  at  least  I  found  it  so 
until  the  last  year  I  was  there.  Forebodings  seemed 
to  gather  everywhere.  When  I  would  go  home  I  felt 
that  I  must  be  back  at  the  mine,  and  when  I  returned 
it  seemed  that  someone  was  calling  me  home.  Even 
as  the  clouds  gather  before  a  storm,  that  inexplicable 
restlessness  seemed  to  drive  me  on.  The  peace  of  the 
mountains  was  no  more.  An  unavoidable  something 
was  waiting.  I  knew  not  where  or  what.  Some  great 
experience  seemed  to  be  calling  me.  The  inevitable 
was  pressing  me  on. 

CHAPTER  III. 

Slowly  up  the  mountain  side  over  that  picturesque 
trail,  the  burro  train  plodded,  some  dozen  or  more. 
Four  of  us  fellows  went  along  to  keep  things  moving. 
I  was  following  the  last  burro  in  the  train,  a  nice, 


Up    From    the    Hills.  Page  nine. 

little,  brown  yearling.  When  I  came  to  the  top  of 
the  first  hill  the  owner  of  the  burro  train  called  to 
me  and  said,  "Hanks,  you  watch  that  little  donk. 
She  will  kick  you  if  she  gets  a  chance."  The  thing 
above  all  others  that  a  burro  can  do  well  is  to  kick. 
They  never  miss  their  mark.  Immediately  I  cut  a 
long,  limber  willow  and  proceeded  to  tease  Miss  Burro 
thoroughly.  While  she  was  climbing  up  each  steep 
hill  I  would  catch  hold  of  her  tail.  She  tried  her 
best  to  kick  me  every  time,  but  just  before  she  would 
get  to  the  top  of  each  hill  I  would  let  loose.  She 
would  go  on  until  she  reached  firm  footing  and  then 
she  would  wait  and  watch  for  me  to  come  up  where 
she  could  kick  me,  and  then  I  would  switch  her. 
That  little  donkey  remembered  our  trip  to  the  mine 
and  how  I  teased  her.  She  watched  me  every  day  I 
was  there.  She  would  have  kicked  me  sometime  if 
I  had  stayed.  In  the  gloom  of  that  October  night  we 
unloaded  the  burros,  and  laid  their  burdens  at  our 
cabin  door. 

The  lease  was  right,  and  the  fellows  were  there, 
and  when  morning  came  we  set  to  work.  The  tunnel 
planned,  I  drilled  the  holes.  The  dynamite  lifted 
the  rocks  as  the  echoes  of  the  blast  sifted  and  rolled 
through  the  cliffs,  silent  and  old.  Nothing  succeeds 
like  success,  and  the  work  pushed  on  with  a  rush. 
The  burro  train  went  down  time  after  time  with  packs 
of  lead  and  silver  until  the  car  was  loaded.  What  a 


Page  ten.  Up    FrOIU    the    Hills. 

day  of  celebration!    Only  you  who  have  worked  for 
it  know. 

Then  came  the  time  for  us  to  market,  and,  of 
course,  the  two  older  fellows  must  go.  My  partner 
and  I  stayed  alone  to  forward  the  cause,  while  the 
old  chaps  went  to  town  to  pocket  the  cash.  We 
worked  like  the  devil  for  a  couple  of  days.  The  third 
morning  when  old  Sol  rolled  over  the  mountain  in 
his  setting  of  blue,  he  looked  down  upon  a  wonderful 
sight,  the  most  beautiful  in  the  world  to  me,  pine 
trees,  cliffs,  and  rocks,  glittering,  smiling,  until  my 
soul  was  lost  in  the  silent  ecstasy  of  it  all.  The 
Almighty  tried  Himself  when  he  made  such  mornings 
as  that.  I  am  sure  His  best  work  was  given  to  that 
rock-ribbed  world  that  laughs  as  it  goes.  Laughs? 
Yes,  it  was  bubbling  with  laughter !  The  whole  great 
world  was  a  song.  Surely  on  such  a  morning  Brown 
ing  sang,  "All's  right  with  the  world!" 

CHAPTER  IV. 

The  mischief  that  waited  was  in  the  blacksmith's 
shop.  A  box  of  caps  and  a  coil  of  fuse  were  be 
coming  wet  in  the  drip  of  the  melting  frost.  That 
wouldn't  do,  so  I  picked  them  up  and  put  each  in 
a  cozy  place  in  front  of  the  rock  where  they  could 
dry  in  the  sun.  They  set  there  until  noon,  warming 
and  stewing  and  waiting  for  the  fatal  touch. 

Noontime   came,  holes  were   drilled,   the   blasting 


Up    From    the    Hills.  Page  eleven. 

must  be  done.  It  seemed  a  choice  between  us  two. 
My  partner  stopped  twice  to  pick  up  the  caps,  and 
when  I  told  him  to  fix  the  dinner,  he  went  on,  and 
I  picked  up  the  box.  Until  my  dying  day  I  shall 
thank  the  Almighty  Creator  for  the  last  glorious  look 
over  the  mountains  and  cliffs.  For  with  a  slight  bump 
of  the  caps,  everything  changed  with  a  roar.  Ex 
plosion  ?  Yes !  It  had  happened.  Forebodings  were 
over.  I  had  waited  one  second  too  long.  I  intended 
to  quit  and  go  home,  but  oh,  Great  God,  it  was  too 
late. 

I  found  myself  lying  on  the  rocks  about  fifteen 
feet  from  where  the  explosion  occurred.  I  immediately 
rolled  over  and  stood  up,  calm,  sane  and  collected. 
My  hands  were  gone,  my  eyes  were  blind.  Darkness 
loomed,  the  blood  streamed.  Where  my  left  hand 
should  have  been,  sharp  bones  protruded  as  I  raised  it 
to  my  face.  The  wreck  of  my  right  hand  was  even 
worse,  mashed  like  sausage.  I  was  not  in  extreme 
pain.  My  face  was  smarting  as  if  I  had  been  hit  with 
a  handful  of  gravel,  my  clothes  were  torn  and  burned, 
in  fact,  most  of  them  were  gone.  My  body  was 
bruised  and  cut,  and  flying  particles  of  copper  had 
played  havoc  with  my  eyes.  My  partner  wept  and 
beat  his  head. 

From  that  minute  on,  down,  down  I  sped,  worse 
and  worse,  until  it  seemed  that  I  would  die.  It 
began  with  a  walk  up  the  trail  to  the  cabin  door.  The 


twelve.  Up  From  the  Hills. 


seat  on  the  bed  was  a  welcome  place;  the  fire  was 
made  by  my  partner  and  the  examination  begun. 
He  opened  my  right  eye  with  his  thumb  and  finger. 
"My  God  !"  he  said,  "that  one  is  gone." 

The  left  eye  was  next  in  turn.  He  opened  it  wide. 
"Can't  you  see?  That  one  looks  good." 

"You  are  not  lying  to  me?"  said  I.  "Look  here, 
old  man,  if  that  one  is  gone  I  want  you  to  tell  me 
and  right  here  is  where  I  will  take  my  medicine." 

"No,  I'm  not  lying,  I  can't  see  where  that  one  is 
hurt  at  all." 

"Is  it  worth  a  chance?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  we  had  better  tie  it  up  and  stop  the  blood, 
or  this  will  all  soon  be  over." 

CHAPTER  V. 

So  he  did  the  tying  job  with  a  couple  of  strong 
linen  handkerchiefs,  one  around  each  arm;  he  put 
them  on  with  the  strength  of  a  mountain  lad.  They 
were  tied  like  bracelets  of  iron.  This  I  found  out 
when  I  tried  to  chew  them  off  after  he  had  gone. 
He  started  on  a  fifteen  mile  trip  for  a  doctor  and 
help,  and  I  lay  down  on  the  bed  to  await  his  return; 
here  is  where  the  real  torture  began.  As  my  arms 
swelled  under  the  pressure  of  those  bandages,  I  had 
my  first  feast  of  real  pain.  It  seemed  as  though  my 
shoulders  and  arms  were  pushing  through  my  body. 


Up  From  the  Hills.  page  thirteen. 

I  tried  to  chew  the  bandages  off,  but  my  lips  were 
gone  and  I  couldn't  find  the  knots.  My  rifle  hung  on 
a  nail  at  the  end  of  the  cabin.  I  knew  exactly  where 
it  was,  all  loaded  and  ready.  To  touch  the  trigger 
with  my  toe  was  a  simple  thing.  "By  Jove,  I'll  end 
this"  was  the  thought  that  came.  Immediately  I  sat 
up,  but  I  was  so  dizzy  I  was  not  quite  sure,  and 
when  I  tried  to  put  my  feet  down  off  the  bed  they 
wouldn't  go,  and  I  lay  down  once  more. 

Thoughts  came.  Nausea  followed.  I  decided  my 
days  were  ending;  life's  great  glories  were  gone. 
I  knew  I  was  leaving  the  world  of  the  living;  every 
thing  was  settling  down.  The  torture  grew  steadily 
worse.  My  first  inclination  was  to  bewail  my  pitiful 
lot,  and  I  had  a  desire  to  curse,  but  so  near  the  brink 
I  was  slipping,  fear  stepped  into  the  race,  and  finally 
a  little  prayer  was  uttered  instead  of  a  hideous  curse. 

"Oh,  God,  by  all  I  hold  sacred,  if  I  must  go 
through  the  world,  crippled  and  blind,  let  it  all  end 
here,  I  pray  You." 

My  feet  were  cold.  Icy  chills  began  to  creep  up 
my  back.  Each  one  seemed  to  follow  the  other  from 
my  feet  up  my  spine  out  at  the  top  of  my  head.  As 
the  day  wore  on  they  came  more  frequently  and  with 
a  more  pronounced  shiver  each  time.  After  a  while 
they  started  in  my  knees.  My  fire  had  gone  out,  and 
the  puppy  had  howled  himself  to  sleep.  The  chills 
were  starting  now  in  my  hips.  The  fingers  of  old 


Page  fourteen.  Up    FrOlU    the    Hills. 

Jack  Frost  were  reaching  farther  and  farther  into 
my  soul. 

The  rustle  of  the  wind  in  the  pines  seemed  farther 
away.  Everything  grew  more  quiet.  The  little  pup 
whined  for  his  petting.  How  I  wished  I  could  give 
it  to  him.  And  all  day  the  silence  grew  thicker  until, 
when  night  came,  it  seemed  everything  was  gone.  I 
could  hear  an  occasional  rustle,  far,  far  away,  and 
the  thought  pressed  harder  and  harder  upon  me,  "this, 
oh  this,  is  my  very  last  day."  In  that  hour  I  realized 
my  chance  to  be  happy  was  gone,  and  I  made  up  my 
mind  firmly  that  I  soon  would  be  numbered  with  the 
dead. 

CHAPTER  VI. 

A  stone  came  tearing  past  the  cabin,  loosened  by 
a  horse's  hoof  on  the  trail  above,  and  I  thanked  the 
good  God  of  Mercy  that  the  doctor  and  the  fellows 
had  come.  Now  I  could  ask  them  for  a  drink  of 
water.  Through  all  those  hours  I  had  been  tortured 
most  by  thirst.  I  saw  in  my  delirium  the  springs  in 
the  mountain  with  the  clear,  crystal  water  bubbling 
through  the  pebbles  and  sand.  I  would  lie  flat  down 
in  my  dream  and  drink  all  I  could.  Then  once  more 
I  would  be  aroused  by  excruciating  thirst  to  find 
that  it  was  only  a  dream! 

A  slight  introduction  and  the  doctor  was  there 
with  this  hypo  needle  all  ready.  How  glad  I  was  he 


Up    From    the    Hills.  Page  fifteen. 

had  come!  He  rebandaged  my  arms;  opium  and 
chloroform  did  the  rest.  I  was  peaceful  and  happy 
through  the  night,  and  when  the  gray  dawn  of  morn 
ing  lighted  the  way  over  the  crags,  the  fellows  loaded 
me  on  a  stretcher  made  of  canvas  and  boards,  and 
down  the  mountain  side,  over  the  cliffs  and  ice  they 
carried  their  burden  to  the  bottom  of  the  glorious 
gorge. 

The  first  snow-flakes  were  falling  as  we  came  to 
the  bubbling  stream.  They  all  took  a  drink  but  me, 
and  I  would  have  given  worlds  for  one  sip  of  good 
cold  water  as  I  heard  it  gurgling  by.  I  asked  for 
a  drink,  but  the  doctor  said,  "No,  a  drink  of  cold 
water  would  kill  him;  get  ready  to  go."  So  they 
waded  across.  Several  times  they  splashed  and 
floundered  while  my  soul  was  craving  one  draught 
of  that  water.  We  were  nearing  the  last  crossing; 
I  knew  it  was  there.  I  made  up  my  mind  I  would 
jump  in  the  creek,  or  at  least  I  would  try  to.  A  curve 
in  the  trail  left  the  doctor  behind.  They  slipped  me 
a  cup  of  water.  For  many  things  I  have  been  thank 
ful,  but  that  one  cup  of  water  was  the  best  gift  of 
God's  giving,  for  I  would  have  died  from  thirst.  On 
they  went  to  the  jolting  wagon.  While  the  fellows 
were  carrying  me  it  did  not  seem  so  bad,  but  when 
they  loaded  me  in  the  wagon  there  was  a  decided 
change.  The  mountain  road  had  been  newly  made, 
and  the  rocks,  holes,  poles,  and  chucks  were  all  there. 


Page  sixteen.  Up    From    the    HUls. 

I  knew  when  they  found  every  one.  We  had  no  springs 
on  the  wagon.  I  could  not  sit  up.  To  lie  flat  down  in 
the  bottom  was  my  portion.  That  was  some  ride,  but 
it  was  the  best  we  could  do.  On  to  the  depot  we  went. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

The  second  day  had  waned  in  its  shadows,  when 
the  train,  hissing  and  grinding,  started  on  its  way 
to  the  hospital.  It  seemed  like  a  panorama  of  mad 
ness.  The  train  bumped  and  thumped.  After  an 
endless  period  of  time,  it  all  ceased  and  was  over. 
I  was  lying  on  the  station  floor.  They  were  hustling 
for  an  ambulance,  and  the  last  thing  I  knew  they 
were  carrying  me  once  more.  Then  the  doctor's 
familiar  voice  woke  me. 

"My  boy,  have  you  any  choice  as  to  who  uses 
the  knives?" 

"No,  Doctor,  just  please  don't  let  me  wake  up." 

"All  right,  smell  this." 

There  seemed  to  be  a  deep  roar;  my  thoughts 
went  off  in  a  jumble,  round  and  round  I  sped  like 
a  wheel,  and  then  it  was  over. 

"We  shall  know  each  other  better  when  the  mists 
have  rolled  away."  We  shall  see  each  other  clearly 
when  we  are  through  this  world  with  work  and  play. 

There  is  a  recompensing  feature  that  brings  us 
prizes.  When  nature  takes  away  her  gifts,  she  repays 
some  other  way.  My  gift  came  in  rest  the  next  two 


Up    From    the    Hills.  Page  seventeen. 

days.  Places  trimmed  with  gorgeous  beauty  decked 
the  walls  of  dreams.  People,  draped  in  garbs  I  never 
saw  before,  glided  up  and  down ;  yes,  they  were  there 
in  glorious  array.  Through  my  being  I  longed  to 
stay.  The  rest  that  came  was  sweetened  with  breezes' 
peace  and  flowers'  perfume.  There  were  lights,  but 
no  lamps;  music,  but  no  musicians;  flowers,  but  they 
did  not  grow  out  of  the  ground;  understanding,  but 
no  words.  The  people  moved,  but  did  not  walk;  I 
understood  so  clearly,  but  could  not  speak.  With 
peace  and  rest  through  those  two  days  and  nights  I 
was  blessed. 

We  are  never  entirely  satisfied  in  life.  There  is 
always  something  more  we  wish  for,  or  something 
we  must  have  to  make  us  happy,  or  at  least,  I  have 
found  it  so.  Contentment  and  satisfaction  came  to  me 
completely  when  I  was  so  near  death's  door,  and  the 
greatest  desire  of  my  life  is  to  pass  back  to  that  situ 
ation.  I  would  not  do  anything  in  the  world  that 
would  send  me  there  abnormally.  I  hope  to  go  back 
some  day  just  as  God  intended  me  to. 

CHAPTER  VIIlP 

All  at  once  a  distant  roar  seemed  to  wake  the 
echoes  of  the  place  as  if  someone  were  smashing  the 
glories.  I  woke  once  more.  My  mind  was  clear  and 
sane.  It  all  came  back  like  a  hideous  dream.  I 
tried  to  sleep  again.  'Twas  no  use.  I  saw  it  all  so 


Page  eighteen.  Up    FrOHl    the    Hills. 

clearly,  the  loss  of  the  past  few  days.  My  blood 
was  sopping  through  my  veins;  the  fever  burnt  and 
scorched.  I  ached  in  every  bone.  I  had  lost  all  I 
could  lose  and  still  live  on.  "Helpless"  was  the  word 
that  tortured  me  long  and  hard.  For  six  days  and 
nights  I  had  not  tasted  food.  I  was  not  hungry, 
and  did  not  want  to  eat.  I  made  up  my  mind  that 
was  my  way  out.  I  would  never  taste  food  again. 
The  nurses  coaxed,  the  doctors  said  I  must,  but  firmly 
I  refused.  They  seemed  to  realize  my  intention,  so  in 
the  evening  of  the  seventh  day  the  nurses  came  to  my 
room.  The  matron  raised  me  up,  tipped  back  my  head 
and  literally  poured  down  my  throat  a  cup  of  beef 
tea.  Without  a  word  they  left  me.  The  next  morning 
I  was  starving.  The  matron  came  in  and  asked  me 
what  I  would  have  for  breakfast.  I  told  her  fried 
eggs,  sausage,  coffee,  and  toast.  Soon  she  returned 
bringing  everything  I  had  ordered.  And  then  she  fed 
me  all  I  could  eat.  The  memory  of  that  breakfast 
will  linger  as  long  as  I  have  thoughts.  Later,  when 
they  cut  my  rations  to  one  soft-boiled  egg  and  a  slice 
of  toast,  I  asked  them  why  they  did  not  bring  me 
something  to  eat  like  they  did  before.  The  matron 
very  decidedly  said,  "Shut  your  mouth;  don't  ever 
mention  that  breakfast  to  a  living  soul.  I  fed  you 
your  last  meal  that  morning.  I  expected  you  to  die 
soon,  and  I  decided  to  start  you  on  with  at  least  one 
good  meal." 


Up    From    the    Hills.  Page  nineteen. 

For  five  weeks  it  steadily  grew  worse  and  worse. 
There  I  was  in  that  hospital  with  the  doctors  and 
the  nurses.  They  all  did  what  they  could,  but  their 
kindly  efforts  seemed  of  little  use.  Higher  and  higher 
grew  the  pile  of  discarded  hopes  and  happy  smiles. 
Despair  and  disappointment  racked  my  nights  and 
days. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

Words  fall  like  empty  shells  when  I  try  to  describe 
that  torture,  misery,  and  hell.  The  days  and  nights 
wore  slowly  away,  and  each  brought  more  of  my 
dreams,  to  the  ever  gone.  The  physical  misery  was 
excruciating,  but  the  mental  torture  is  hard  to 
describe.  The  thoughts  of  the  future  tortured  me, 
and  in  the  midst  of  my  trouble  my  friends  came 
along.  A  few  spare  tears  they  shed,  and  I  heard 
them  say  as  they  went  their  way,  "My  God,  it's  too 
bad  it  didn't  kill  him."  Their  expressions  were  meant 
to  be  kind,  but  they  seared  my  weary  soul. 

One  day  the  doctor  came  in.  "I  have  a  poem  to 
read  to  you.  It  is  Edmund  Vance  Cooke's  'How  Did 
You  Die.'  We  have  rechristened  it  and  call  it  'Vim.* 
I  am  assured  it  will  do  you  some  good."  That  poem 
was  the  first  piece  of  literature  that  ever  made  me  sit 
up  and  take  notice.  Since  that  time  it  has  always 
been  with  me.  It  has  brightened  many  dark  days.  I 
met  the  author  later.  He  gave  me  the  poem  to  use  in 


Page  twenty.  Up    FrOIU    the    Hills. 

my  lectures.  Even  now  when  I  read  it,  it  makes 
things  easier,  and  helps  to  brighten  the  way. 

The  regular  hospital  routine  I  do  not  need  to  men 
tion.  You  who  have  been  there  know  what  a  mess 
of  torture  and  fuss,  doctors,  lances,  and  probes !  With 
all  of  their  machinery  the  hypo  needle  was  crowned 
above  the  rest.  When  nights  came  with  all  their 
ghosts  of  torture  and  the  voices  were  hushed,  King 
Opium  spoke,  seemingly  so  soothing,  and  peacefully 
drove  that  hideous  procession  away  from  my  mind. 
Sleep  with  morphine  was  all  I  could  get.  For  weeks 
it  went  on  until  the  habit  was  fastened  as  solid  as 
growth  in  the  ground.  First,  I  took  it  because  I  was 
in  misery.  Soon  I  liked  it  so  well  that  without  it  life 
was  a  burden,  and  all  joys  were  turned  to  the  tortures 
of  hell. 

Although  it  was  long  years  ago,  even  now  days 
come  when  food  does  not  satisfy.  There  isn't  anything 
I  can  get  that  is  just  what  I  want.  That  old  opium 
habit !  Will  I  never  forget  those  dreams,  the  pleasant, 
quiet  rest  when  I  was  tired  in  spite  of  everything? 
When  I  think  back  to  that  day  in  the  cabin,  what  a 
relief  it  was !  Then  when  I  had  my  appendix  removed 
it  soothed  again,  but  faster  and  faster  the  habit  grew 
till  the  dreams  were  gone  and  dejection,  melancholy 
and  madness  came.  I  was  a  wreck,  physically  and 
mentally. 

Gentle  reader,  we  may  think  we  are  hiding  from 


Up    From    the    Hills.  Page  twenty-one. 

that  torture  but  it  turns  on  us  later  a  thousand  times 
greater  than  the  first  rush  of  misery,  and  it  makes 
us  square  up  with  old  Mother  Nature  for  the  things 
she  elected  to  be.  Every  imaginable  pain  in  the  world 
came  back  when  I  dropped  that  morphine.  No  rest, 
no  sleep,  nor  eating! 

CHAPTER  X. 

In  that  pile  of  life's  ruin  I  left  many  treasures 
behind;  stripped  stark  naked  of  health,  money,  and 
sweetheart;  I  faced  life  alone — blind.  Independence 
went  in  the  bargain,  helplessness  came  in  its  stead. 
Two  or  three  fellows  left  the  hospital  in  coffins.  How 
I  prayed  to  go  even  that  way!  The  doctors  and 
nurses  and  some  of  my  friends  said  that  would  be 
wrong.  The  hospital  days  were  ending,  for  surely 
I  was  getting  well.  My  sweetheart  came  to  see  me. 
I  told  her,  "Well,  sis,  a  half  man  is  my  portion,  and 
you  march  straight  along.  Get  some  nice,  clean  young 
fellow  who  is  all  there  and  make  you  a  home.  You 
are  as  free  as  God's  sunshine  which  I  may  never  see 
again.  Please  forget  that  I  am  living,  and  I  will 
never  feel  that  you  did  me  wrong.  This  is  my  own 
misery.  I  can't  drag  you  in.  I'll  do  the  best  I 
can  with  the  mess  I've  made,  and  I'll  live  to  the  end 
of  life's  living,  but  I  must  do  it  alone."  When  her 
sobs  and  tears  had  ceased,  I  turned  my  face  to  the 


Pa*e  twenty-two.  Up    FrOHl    the    Hills. 

bare  wall.    "For  the  strength  of  the  hills  I  bless  thee, 
Oh  God,  Oh  Gracious  God!" 

CHAPTER  XI. 

The  first  hospital  days  were  ended.  At  last  the 
time  for  going  home  arrived.  The  matron  came,  in 
her  kindness  and  said,  "My  boy,  who  will  wait  on 
you  there?" 

"Now  look  here,  Mrs.  Hunter,  the  Lord  only  knows. 
Five  years  from  today  I'll  do  it  myself,  everything 
that  I'll  have  to  have  done." 

She  laughed,  "You  are  crazy." 

"Yes,  I  know  I  am,  but  whether  it's  pleasure  or 
sorrow,  joy  or  fun,  listen,  Mrs.  Hunter,  I  will  do 
everything  that  I  will  have  to  have  done.  While 
I  may  be  crazy,  I  have  a  whole  herd  of  crazy  friends, 
so  fare  you  well,  Mrs.  Hunter,  hospital,  doctors,  and 
all." 

We  went  to  the  station  and  then  began  the  grinding 
and  winding  through  the  mountains  once  more.  It 
was  a  sad  little  procession  that  started  toward  home. 
The  great  mountains  hovered  along  either  side  of 
the  way.  The  golden  rays  of  sunlight  that  poured 
over  the  cliffs  seemed  like  a  benediction,  the  sacred- 
ness  of  it  all.  The  valleys  and  mountains  were  covered 
with  pure  white  snow.  The  frost  had  decked  them 
with  diamonds,  and  the  clear,  bracing  air  was  strong 
with  life  to  a  man  who  stepped  on  the  platform  of 


Up   From    the   Hills.  Page  twenty-three. 

a  little  station  called  "Home."  With  glad  hearts  we 
usually  come  to  that  mansion  or  cottage  where  our 
life  began,  but  this  day  'twas  with  sorrow,  disap 
pointment  and  shame.  My  body  was  broken  and 
everything  gone.  I  had  lost  to  the  extent  of  my 
losing,  and  the  pitiful  greeting  was  sad.  The  neigh 
bors  gathered  in  to  see  the  misfortune.  All  the  kids 
were  there  and  Mother  and  Dad. 

CHAPTER  XII. 

Let  me  pause  here  to  discuss  with  pride  my  fore 
fathers  and  homefolks.  Ephraim  K.  Hanks,  my 
grandfather,  was  a  first  cousin  of  Abraham  Lin 
coln's  mother,  Nancy  Hanks.  My  other  grandfather, 
N.  C.  Murdock,  was  a  nephew  of  General  Stacy  who 
fought  the  English  on  Bunker  Hill.  Both  of  my 
grand-dads  were  Utah  pioneers.  Hanks  joined  the 
battalion  that  fought  in  the  Mexican  war.  Murdock 
drove  an  ox  team,  or  more  commonly  known  a  yoke 
of  bulls,  from  St.  Joe,  Mo.,  to  Salt  Lake  City,  Utah, 
when  he  was  but  a  lad  of  thirteen  years.  My  father 
was  one  of  those  clean,  strong  out-of-door  men.  He 
found  most  pleasure  in  the  mountains,  hunting,  and 
fishing.  I  used  to  go  along.  My  mother  was  a 
thoroughbred,  with  large  dark  eyes  and  black  hair, 
unconquerable,  and  knew  no  limit  to  her  love  and 
kindness.  Seven  brothers  and  three  sisters  made 


Page  twenty-four.  Up    FrOIU    the    HHls. 

twelve  in  the  family.  Both  grandfathers,  my  father 
and  mother,  and  one  kid  brother  have  taken  that  long 
trip  over  the  range,  and  according  to  the  creed  which 
they  believed,  they  have  gone  to  their  reward. 

To  start  all  over  seemed  hard,  but  it  rang  from 
the  forests  and  mountains,  from  every  man  that  I  met. 
Some  of  their  eyes  were  filled  with  moisture.  Tears 
dropped  like  showers  of  rain.  "Can  you  start  all 
over?"  seemed  the  words  they  would  whisper.  That 
was  the  question.  It  grew  bigger  and  bigger  each 
day.  "To  start  all  over  that's  the  thing  to  do,  I 
know,  but  just  what  way?  What  can  I  do?"  Still 
tortured !  It  seemed  hopeless.  The  harder  I  tried,  the 
less  I  did.  The  little  things  grew  bigger.  The  details 
were  a  mountain  of  difficulties.  I  could  not  dress, 
wash,  comb  my  hair,  or  brush  my  teeth,  had  to  be  led 
wherever  I  went,  and  all  my  money  was  gone.  I 
didn't  have  a  cent.  Steadily  this  thing  grew;  born  of 
trouble,  misery,  disappointment  till  I  learned  my 
great  lesson,  "Man,  it's  up  to  you!" 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

After  five  weeks  of  confinement  in  my  room,  I 
learned  to  dress  myself.  To  feed  myself  was  very 
simple  when  I  learned  the  trick.  The  comb  and  the 
tooth  brush  are  part  of  the  game.  They  worked  like 
a  charm.  This  was  the  glimmer  of  my  first  independ 
ence.  It  came  with  a  flash.  To  earn  a  living  was 


Up    From    the    Hills.  Page  twenty-five. 

the  next  problem.  That  puzzled  me  most.  I  tried 
the  store  business.  It  was  a  sad  failure.  I  started 
selling  things;  but  that  was  no  better  I  think.  Some 
thing  where  the  success  depended  upon  me,  that  is 
what  I  wanted,  but  Oh,  Great  God!  what  could  that 

be?  Bancroft  Library 

A  burden  on  the  home  folks!  That  would  never 
do !  So  one  blustery  April  morning,  with  a  small  boy 
and  a  grip  of  knitwear,  I  went  to  work  taking  orders 
and  selling.  All  I  needed  was  a  monkey  and  string  I 
I  felt  like  a  vendor.  I  displayed  my  wares  in  the 
midst  of  customer's  praises.  "Yes,  we'll  give  you  an 
order  to  help  you."  Those  were  the  small  ones. 
Orders  miswritten,  and  wrong  measurements,  made 
this  selling  a  torment,  but  bills  at  the  hospital  and 
doctors'  fees  made  it  positively  necessary  to  swallow 
my  pride  and  walk  straight  forward. 

When  the  springtime  was  over  and  the  summer 
was  gone  I  had  a  few  hard-earned  dollars.  The 
doctors  were  paid,  and  the  hospital  too.  A  glimmer 
of  light  in  my  left  eye  shimmered  and  shrank,  better 
and  bad,  till  the  oculist  said,  "There  is  a  chance  in 
ten  thousand;  we  must  do  it  now."  I  went  to  the 
bank  to  borrow  some  money.  They  turned  me  down. 
What  else  could  they  do?  Most  of  my  friends  came 
along  with  their  pocket  books  empty.  They  couldn't 
raise  a  cent.  With  the  light  in  that  eye  fast  fading, 
I  swallowed  my  independence  and  pride,  and  went 


Page  twenty-six.  Up    From    the    Hills. 

straight  to  the  hospital  and  asked  them  for  credit. 
They  gave  it. 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

The  nurses  were  strange  and  the  place  was  new. 
I  did  not  know  how  to  find  my  way  outside  of  my 
room.  It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  the  night 
nurse  came.  "Are  you  ready  for  bed,  Mr.  Hanks? 
In  other  words  would  you  like  to  turn  in?  Is  there 
anything  I  can  do  to  help  you?  If  there  is  I'll  be 
glad." 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Groesbeck,  please  hang  my  night 
shirt  on  the  foot  of  the  bed.  I  can  manage  the  rest 
very  nicely.  Good  night." 

She,  however,  like  most  women,  didn't  believe  me. 
She  didn't  think  I  could  undress  without  my  fingers 
or  sight.  She  closed  the  door,  but  the  latch  didn't 
click,  and  I  wondered.  These  ears  of  mine  do  not 
fool  me  often,  so  I  waited  and  listened.  Soon  the 
door  swung  softly  open.  The  latch  was  released  very 
gently,  but  I  heard  the  thing  slide.  All  the  nurses 
in  the  hospital  gathered  in  the  hall  in  front  of  my 
door.  They  were  a  jolly  bunch — some  half  dozen  or 
more.  My  shoes  came  off  with  a  thump  and  slid  to 
their  place  by  the  bedpost  while  the  nurses  looked 
in  amazement.  I  thought,  "Stay  with  it,  old  girls, 
if  you  have  the  nerve.  I'll  give  you  a  demonstration 
if  that's  all  you  crave."  My  coat  and  vest  came  next, 


Up    From    the    Hills.  Page  twenty-seven. 

and  I  hung  them  on  the  bedpost.  I  unbuttoned  my 
collar  and  chucked  both  shirts  into  a  corner.  Then 
I  picked  up  the  nightshirt  that  she  had  left  on  the 
foot  of  the  bed.  Down  came  my  trousers  and  under 
wear  and  the  nightshirt  lowered  just  right.  I  hung 
them  on  the  bedpost,  turned  and  took  hold  of  the  door 
with  my  left  arm  and  addressed  them,  "Now  girls,  I 
don't  mean  any  harm,  but  when  you  lose  your  fingers 
and  eyes,  that's  the  way  to  do  it!"  They  scattered 
like  chaff  in  a  windstorm!  I  never  did  know  where 
they  went.  I  closed  the  door  while  they  were  yet 
going,  and  rolled  down  on  the  bed.  Many  minutes 
of  laughter  have  followed  the  events  of  that  unhappy 
night.  I  worried  about  my  debt  to  the  doctors  and 
hospital;  the  next  day  the  operation  added  more 
misery.  "No  wonder  you  are  feeling  so  wretched," 
said  the  doctor  when  he  came  in.  "Why,  this  is  appen 
dicitis.  An  operation  is  all  that  will  help."  I  wanted 
to  kick  or  kill  him.  I  had  heard  that  word  so  much 
that  "operation"  was  the  signal  for  hate.  I  told  him 
"Go  on  about  your  business  and  leave  me  alone. 
Operation,  the  devil!  I  will  go  to  hell  first."  The 
nurses  came  back.  They  were  sure  that  I  knew  they 
were  there. 

CHAPTER  XV. 

The  operation  for  appendicitis  came  later,  and  the 
day  that  my  appendix  was  removed  I  fought  them  at 


Page  twenty- eight.  Up    FrOIU    the    Hilh. 

the  hospital.  Two  of  the  nurses  I  threw  over  the 
bed  fighting  chloroform,  and  I  proved  to  those  im 
plicated  that  I  was  far  from  being  dead.  Oh,  you 
nurses  that  hover  over  pleasure  and  pain,  how  I  have 
loved  you.  Later,  I  married  one,  a  graduate  nurse; 
ah,  she  is  a  wonderful  woman !  She  was  raised  in  the 
blue  grass  country  of  old  Kentucky.  I  call  her  my 
thoroughbred,  and  she  likes  the  name. 

In  due  time  the  bandage  was  lifted.  Just  the 
glimmer  of  sight  was  there.  No  change,  only  the 
eye  was  miserably  sore.  The  doctor  looked  it  over 
carefully.  "We  must  try  once  more.  Go  back  to 
the  country  and  get  well.  Come  in  and  we  will  cut  it 
again."  Over  and  over  this  happened,  five  times,  and 
the  result  was  the  same,  except  the  last,  and  then 
it  was  all  dark.  Yes,  it  was  gone,  the  last  ray  of 
light. 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

At  the  end  of  the  first  two  years  I  had  paid  the 
doctors  and  hospitals  $1,350.00.  I  earned  it,  every 
cent.  I  sold  and  bought,  and  gathered  up  mining 
stocks.  In  the  midst  of  my  misery  I  had  lots  of  fun. 
Oh,  this  race  for  money,  its  trouble  and  smash !  But 
we  can  endure  the  wreck  of  fortunes.  It  doesn't 
matter  how  much  cash  we  lose,  we  can  get  it  again. 
The  loss  of  our  money  is  a  little  thing,  but  when 
we  lose  that  which  we  cannot  reclaim,  buy,  borrow, 


Up    From    the    Hills. Page  twenty-nine. 

or  hire,  we  have  a  real  loss.  When  we  say  "Goodbye" 
to  health,  happiness,  friends,  or  the  last  great  treas 
ure,  our  good  name — most  of  these,  once  lost,  we  never 
can  regain.  So  plod  along  and  don't  whine.  Let 
your  last  treasures  slip  down  there  with  mine.  Broke 
again?  Yes,  I  was  broke.  Didn't  have  a  red  cent, 
but  the  hospitals  were  paid  and  the  doctors  too.  "I'll 
just  start  all  over."  This  I  said  when  I  found  it  all 
dark,  and  no  hope  for  the  light  to  come  again.  "I  am 
much  better  off  than  I  was  before.  Wait,  while  I  take 
stock.  I  can  walk,  wash,  dress  myself,  comb,  brush 
my  teeth,  wipe  my  nose,  and  do  the  other  necessary 
things,  and  I  can  travel.  On  the  trains  I  am  at  home. 
Shucks,  I'll  get  along." 

The  memories  of  my  teachers  in  school  days  came 
back  with  a  rush.  A  great  light  fell  into  the  darkness 
that  brought  me  a  glimmer  of  hope.  I  could  study, 
but  how?  That  was  the  thing  that  stuck  in  my  brain 
and  wrecked  everything.  After  a  while  there  came  a 
great  teacher.  His  name  was  Byron  W.  King.  He 
showed  me  how  to  begin  and  what  to  study.  He  gave 
me  those  lessons  in  my  hour  of  need,  and  the  King 
folks  helped  me  memorize  and  reclaim  part  of  the 
things  that  were  gone.  If  I  were  a  preacher  I  would 
say,  "God  bless  you  all,  you  showed  me  the  way." 
But  the  fate  of  the  teacher  and  preacher  is  hard,  for 
the  good  gifts  they  hand  us  are  many  times  taken  in 
unconcern.  So  it  was  with  the  great  Master  Teacher. 


Page  thirty.  Up   FrOIU    the   Hills. 

Christ  gave  his  best  to  the  lowly,  His  life,  efforts  and 
all.  Inasmuch  as  you  do  it,  you  teachers,  your  hearts 
shall  swell  under  your  crowns.  Whether  you  give 
it  to  students,  city,  or  town,  the  great  thing  is  the 
giving,  and  in  the  last  great  hour  of  your  lives,  your 
souls  must  develop  and  grow,  and  to  the  highest  point 
of  development  you  will  go.  Let  me  cheer  you  on  in 
your  missions  of  goodness  to  the  last  great  finish  of 
life,  for  in  that  day  your  reward  will  come  clear 
above  the  struggle  and  strife. 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

You  fellows  may  think  you  are  hard  up — education 
impossible.  There  was  a  time  when  it  seemed  so 
to  me.  I  had  finished  all  my  lecture  dates  in  the 
year  1915.  I  could  deliver  a  lecture  but  I  had  nothing 
to  say.  To  learn  new  things  was  up  to  me.  Tortured 
by  many  doubts  and  fears  I  took  two  ragged 
grips  and  started  toward  my  first  great  university. 
After  I  had  bought  my  ticket  to  Leland  Stanford, 
California,  I  had  $35.00  left.  When  I  came  to 
my  hotel  I  heard  a  familiar  voice,  and  my  heart 
warmed. 

"My  old  friend,  Professor  John  C.  Swensen.  God 
must  have  sent  you  to  say  'Goodbye.' " 

"Why?     Where  are  you  going?" 

"Stanford  tomorrow." 

"Do  you  know  anybody  there?" 


Up   From    the    Hills.  Page  thirty-one. 

"No." 

"I  have  no  gold  to  help  you  on  your  way,  but  I 
graduated  from  Stanford,  and  I  know  them  well.  I 
will  give  you  a  letter  of  introduction  to  Dr.  Elliot. 
He  is  the  Registrar." 

"Thank  you,  John,  I  know  it  will  help  me 
greatly." 

Through  the  snow  sheds,  over  the  Sierra  Nevadas 
to  Sacramento,  on  to  San  Francisco,  the  Exposition 
too,  and  then  to  Palo  Alto.  There  is  where  I  landed 
with  fifteen  dollars  to  get  an  education.  Did  it  ever 
happen  to  you?  If  not,  you  have  something  to  live 
for.  I  found  a  boarding  house  on  the  campus.  The 
next  job  was  to  learn  the  way  to  the  University, 
class  rooms,  and  all.  Many  times  I  bumped  my  nose, 
and  sometimes  took  a  fall,  but  soon  I  learned  to  find 
my  way  over  the  steps  and  stairways,  through  the 
arches  and  about  the  quad.  I  went  to  classes  every 
morning.  History  was  the  best.  Political  Science, 
German,  French  and  English,  each  had  a  turn.  How 
I  look  back  on  those  glorious  days  when  I  learned 
things  I  did  not  know!  I  lectured  in  the  evenings 
and  on  week  ends  to  earn  a  living.  During  the  days 
I  stuck  to  school.  David  Starr  Jordan  and  his 
Binomics,  International  Conciliation  too;  the  best 
lectures  I  ever  heard  flowed  from  his  master 
mind.  Two  and  a  half  years  .1  stayed  there  and 
listened. 


Page  thirty-two.  Up  From  the  Hills. 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Gentle  reader,  if  you  shed  a  tear,  let  it  be  one  of 
joy,  for  all  these  cuts,  scars,  and  gashes  have  long 
since  grown  together  with  cleaner,  stronger,  finer 
tissue  than  before.  Eighteen  long  years  have  rolled 
away  since  that  humble  beginning.  I  have  wandered 
this  great  land  through  and  through.  High  schools, 
colleges,  universities,  and  the  great  seats  of  American 
democracy  have  been  my  haunts.  Five  thousand  dol 
lars  I  have  spent  in  schools  and  earned  it  all.  Seven 
lectures  and  fifty  thousand  memorized  words  from 
classical  literature  are  in  my  possession  today.  I  have 
tried  not  to  pause  or  stop,  but  to  march  straight 
along.  All  the  good  things  in  the  world  are  ours  if 
we  but  take  them,  students,  teachers,  all. 

Before  I  finish  let  me  take  stock.  Personal  depen 
dence  has  really  flown  away.  For  sixteen  years  I 
have  traveled  and  paid  my  bills,  lectured  and  enter 
tained  for  it  mostly.  Two  and  a  half  years  at  Leland 
Stanford  University,  school  of  oratory,  and  teachers 
by  the  score.  Ten  thousand  miles  rolled  under  my 
feet  last  year,  and  now  I  will  go  some  more.  I  have 
a  home  in  Heber,  Utah,  and  one  at  Heyburn,  Idaho, 
too.  My  greatest  treasure  is  there  in  Idaho.  There  is 
a  heart  that  beats  with  loyal  cheer.  At  the  hospital 
I  found  her.  When  I  was  left  stark  and  alone  she 
came,  the  richest  gift  of  life's  treasures. 


